Chapter 7
Iwake up to the sensation of hair brushing against my neck and soft kisses on my cheeks. Groaning, I blink my eyes open to find Abigail leaning over me, her face close to mine.
“Ugh, stop,” I groan, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Six.” Abigail’s voice is annoyingly chipper for that hour. She pulls back just enough for me to see her face, already fully made-up, her hair twisted into a sleek knot. “Don’t hate me.”
I squint at her. “It’s still dark outside. Why would I hate you?”
Her smile falters, just a little. “Because I’m leaving. A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
Did she just?
“Excuse me?”
“Come on.” She yanks the covers off me like I’ve had time to process any of this. “Walk with me.”
I stumble out of bed, the floor cold beneath my bare feet, and trail after her through the dark hallway.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“There’s something important I need to handle,” she says, fast. “I can’t explain right now, but I promise, I’ll tell you everything one day.”
The tightness in her voice snags something in my chest. She’s avoiding my eyes and gripping her weekender bag like it’s a lifeline.
“Abby,” I say, stopping in the middle of the hall.
“Hmm?” She keeps walking.
“Hey. Stop a second.” I catch her hand and gently pull her to a standstill. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“What do you mean?” she says after a beat, but the pause gives her away. She’s being careful. Too careful. Her gaze slips just past mine.
She’s definitely hiding something. I don’t know what, but I know my sister.
“Well,” I start slowly, “you’ve been acting suspicious and twitchy for the past few weeks. Taking calls in the other room, hanging up the second I walk in, sneaking out for ‘errands’ that I truly don’t think exist. You even flinched when I asked who you were talking to yesterday.”
She’s been better about spending time with me these past three weeks, which has helped with the wedding dress.
I’m nowhere near finished, but I’ve made real progress, and we’ve planned most of the wedding.
There are still details to sort out, of course.
Despite Abigail insisting it’s supposed to be small, there’s always someone new she needs to invite, something else she needs to add.
But it’s her wedding, and honestly, I’m happy to do whatever keeps her smiling.
Abigail laughs, but it’s off. Tight. “You’re being dramatic, Blair. Maybe I just have a life outside of you.”
“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head, watching her for a beat before finally saying, “Well, let me get dressed. You can drop me at Mom and Dad’s.”
It sounds casual, like I’m just making conversation. But I know why I said it.
In the past three weeks, Calvin’s barely been around, always working, but the few times he has, there’s this tension that hums under the surface, threading through every quiet pause, every glance that lingers too long. It’s not safe.
And I’m not stupid enough to tempt it.
“Why?” she asks, brows furrowing. “Why would you do that?”
“So I can stay there?” I say, like it’s obvious. Which it is.
“No, there’s no need for that,” she says. “Stay here, please. You know how old-school they are. If they find out I’m not in Boston, they’ll start calling twice a day, worrying themselves into the ER. Dad’s blood pressure can’t handle all of that.”
Her voice is shaky now, desperate in a way that unsettles me more than anything else.
“Can’t I just say I miss them and want to spend time with them?” I ask. “They don’t have to know where you are. And, Abby, you’re thirty-five. It’s not like you’re a teenager sneaking out.”
“Just… please. For me?” Her eyes latch onto mine, pleading. “I’m asking you to do this one thing. Just stay here. Keep things normal.”
“So you’re going to leave me alone for weeks, maybe a month, with someone I’ve known, what, three weeks?”
She exhales softly and cups my cheek the way she always does when she’s trying to calm me down.
“You’ve known him long enough to see he’s a good man,” she says gently.
“I trust him, Blair. He’s the man I’m going to marry, and I would never leave you in a situation where I didn’t know, in my heart, that you’d be safe. ”
I believe her. Of course I do. For all her faults, Abigail has always prioritized my well-being above all else. And maybe I don’t know Calvin, not really, but I’m not afraid of him.
Afraid of what might happen if I’m left alone with him, maybe. But not of him.
“Besides,” she adds with a small, hopeful smile, “maybe this will give you both a chance to… I don’t know, get to know each other.
Bond a little. I don’t want to marry someone you don’t get along with.
So please, do this for me? Try. He won’t be home most of the time, but when he is, don’t just avoid him, okay? ”
I sigh, already caving. “Fine. Okay. I’ll… try.” I roll my eyes for effect.
“Thank you.” She beams, the tension easing for a heartbeat before her eyes light up. “Oh! Before I forget, Calvin and I were invited to this super-exclusive masquerade ball next month. Very high-end, old-money type thing. You should come with us! Calvin already said you could be our plus-one.”
I frown. Normally, this would sound like a dream: as a broke fashion designer, clawing her way up? A ballroom full of wealthy wives could mean game-changing exposure. One compliment. One conversation. That’s all it would take to shift everything.
That’s the fantasy, anyway.
The reality? I don’t have a gala-worthy dress.
I’ve got dozens of sketches on my iPad, but they’re concepts, ideas, nothing tangible I can step into and zip up.
And with Abigail’s wedding dress still mid-construction and the clock ticking louder every day, I barely have time to sleep, let alone sew something for myself.
Besides, this whole thing reeks of date night energy. And I’m not exactly eager to play the role of decorative third wheel, not with Calvin.
“Uh… thank you for the invite, but I can’t go. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Then we’ll go shopping when I get back!” she chirps. “It’ll be fun. Glamour, gowns, mystery… It’s very you.”
Okay… I have to admit, a masquerade ball does sound kind of fun. The drama, the masks, the chance to disappear and be someone else for a night? It’s tempting. But reality crushes the fantasy almost instantly. I don’t have the money to splurge on a dress, let alone something couture-worthy.
Before I can voice that thought, Abigail grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Come on.”
I stumble after her, half-asleep and hyper-aware that I’m in nothing but boy shorts and a tank top that says ‘make me’. My skin prickles. I tug the hem down, as if that’ll somehow make me decent.
“It’s okay,” she says, glancing back at me with a smirk. “He’s at the gym.”
He. Calvin. Of course, I knew he got back last night.
I haven’t seen him in days because he has been away on business.
Not that I missed him or anything ridiculous like that.
I didn’t miss the way his smile lights up his entire face.
Or how his eyes find me the moment I walk into a room.
Or the way his attention feels like sunlight through a window, yet dangerous, addictive. He’s not my man.
Still, I can’t help the little flutter in my chest, like my body’s waiting for him to walk through the door.
Abigail stops at the console table near the elevator, plucking her keys and a credit card off the tray. She turns and holds them both out to me. “Here. Take these. Go buy a dress.”
I blink at her, unsure if I heard right. “I appreciate it, but that’s okay.” I reach for only the car keys, leaving the card untouched. “I have my own.”
Her smile drops. “Oh, not this again.”
“Not what again?” I ask, wary.
“You and your I-don’t-need-anyone thing,” she says, clearly annoyed. “You hate it when people do things for you.”
“I don’t hate it. I just think it’s unnecessary most of the time,” I say, crossing my arms.
Abigail lets out an exasperated sigh. “Blair, come on. You’re a college student living in one of the most expensive cities in the world. You don’t have a job. Mom and Dad send you money every month. Hate to break it to you, but you have nothing.”
I stare at her, stunned.
“And look around.” She gestures to the penthouse, the walls dripping in understated luxury. “I’m marrying a millionaire. A millionaire, Blair. Take the damn card. I don’t want to leave you here alone with no money. Jesus.”
She practically shoves it into my hand, kisses my cheek, and steps into the elevator without waiting for a response.
I stand there blinking, the credit card cold in my palm. Did she just call me broke?
“I have a job, you know!” I shout at the closing elevator doors. They don’t answer.
I do have a job. Sort of. I make content, post on socials. It’s not a desk job, but it’s work. And Mom and Dad don’t “send me money every month.” They help. Occasionally. When I really need it.
That’s different.
Isn’t it?
Suddenly, the air seems to thicken. I don’t have to turn around. I feel him before I see him. The scent hits first, spiced citrus and something inherently Calvin. It wraps around me like a noose.
Then comes the sound. A low, deliberate clearing of his throat.
When I finally turn, he’s there, sweat-slicked, wearing nothing but gray sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips. My breath catches, chest tightening. Is this real? Or some fever dream conjured by my very worst, most wicked craving?
His chest rises and falls with the echo of exertion, skin gleaming under the morning light. A single bead of sweat slips down his abs, inked muscle stacked like sin itself, trailing lower and lower until it disappears beneath the waistband.
God help me, I’m drooling.
I try, try, to look away. To be good. But my gaze lingers.
“My eyes are up here.”